


Santa Baby

by someonestolemyshoes



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, F/M, Humour, Non-Explicit Sex, She/Her Pronouns for Hange Zoë, this is mostly just secondhand embarrassment for Levi honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28883595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonestolemyshoes/pseuds/someonestolemyshoes
Summary: “And wasn’t the deal,” Hange says, “that you would do one thing—anything—I asked, because you don’t have the money to buy me something for the holidays?”Levi grunts again.“Something like that.”“And what I want,” Hange goes on, smiling, “is for you to dance to Santa Baby in a pretty Christmas dress, and then, I want you to have sex with me.”
Relationships: Levi/Hange Zoë
Comments: 5
Kudos: 91





	Santa Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Wow it's been a hot minute, huh? 2020 happened, and I returned to comfort shows and comfort ships, and here I am, teetering on the edge of the levihan pit once more. This is an old piece from my old tumblr account, but there are....a couple of new things in the works, that may or may not see the light of day, who knows?

“Just so you know,” Levi says, voice muffled through the bathroom door, “this is the worst thing you’ve ever asked me to do, and I hate you.”

“Noted.”

“And this is the last thing I’m doing for you, ever, in my life,” he goes on. A dull _thunk_ bounces from the bathroom, and with it comes a muted, “ _shit_ ,” and the soft patter of stumbling feet against the tiles. Hange bites back her smile, and kicks her feet against the bedframe.

“Fine,” she says–only because she knows it isn’t true, because Levi always has been and always _will_ be painfully weak to her will.

“And I hate you,” he says. Hange hears the tear of plastic, the rustle of fabric, and another, louder, “ _Shit_ ,” before everything goes just a little too quiet.

“Levi?”

“Hange,” he calls back. “Hange, there is no _fucking_ way—”

“—Nuh uh,” she says, folding her arms over her chest. “No, Levi, you _promised_.”

“Yeah, before I saw the–what is this? Where does _this_ go?”

Hange bites back a bubble of laughter and tucks up her legs, crossing them against the mattress. It’s…she doesn’t want to rush him, no way, he’ll just get _mad_ , but her alarm clock is ticking the night away, and they only have—starting now—fifty nine minutes before her mother is due to come home. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s been caught doing something _weird—_ little things, like singing into her hair brush or re-enacting her favourite scenes from sci-fi movies, and then there are the…the things she doesn’t talk about, like the Urine Incident, to name one—but it’ll be the first time she’s been caught doing something weird with somebody else.

And it is _not_ an exciting prospect.

“Just put it _on_ ,” she says. Levi thumps what Hange can only assume is his fist against the door.

“ _You_ put it on.”

“That,” Hange says, “was not part of the deal.”

“I don’t— _hmph—_ I don’t remember agreeing to any _deal_.”

Granted, Hange thinks, flopping back on the pillows to wait, Levi might have been…less than sober, when Hange first brought up this particular idea. And he might have been less than sober the second time she said it, too, but the third time he was perfectly fine, if a little more reluctant than before. But he’d been a little hard-pressed to say no, with some of his most sensitive anatomy swallowed down Hange’s throat.

A few more minutes go by. Hange sits, and she listens, as every thump and groan and swear filters in, until finally, _finally_ , the lock on the door clicks, and the hinges creak as it opens.

“This is stupid.”

Admittedly, it is a _little_ on the stupid side. But it’s…nice, too, and Levi does look surprisingly good in the tiny little outfit. The red velvet looks stark, vibrant against his pale skin, and the fur sits soft and fluffy about his thighs _—_ just high enough that Hange can see the garters keeping his stockings in place.

It looks even more stupid because Levi is standing like he always does, grumpy and sullen, with his arms folded over his chest and his shoulders hiked high up by his ears. He grumbles, and Hange bites back her laugh.

“It suits you,” she says. Levi glowers. “You don’t have the boobs for it, though.”

“That’s it, I’m taking it off.”

“No! No, no,” Hange sits up straight and plants her feet on the floor. “No, you haven’t even played the music yet.”

“I am _not—_ ”

“—not keeping your promise, it sounds like.”

Levi grunts at that. She knows she’s got him there, because Levi _did_ promise, and even if he is grumpy, and sullen, and moping, he is not one to back away from something he has sworn to do. He drops his arms to his sides, and crosses to the desk, scooping up his phone and scowling the whole way.

“I hate this,” he says, even as he scrolls, “and I hate you.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“Just making sure you know,” he says. Hange watches one white stocking-clad foot curl up to scratch at the back of his calf. He braces a palm on the desk as he searches for the music he’s looking for, and the fuzzy hem of the skirt swishes.

“This is _itchy_ ,” he says, scratches where the fur is tickling his armpits.

It was a cheap outfit, and the fur is definitely synthetic, the horrible, plastic kind, so she can fully imagine just how horrible uncomfortable it must be under his arms, where the sleeveless dress sits loose against his skin. He hikes it up a little, wriggles the breast of it until it sits higher and straighter.

“Do I _have_ to do this.”

“Did you buy me a different Christmas present?”

Levi lowers his foot back to the floor and wriggles his toes in the carpet.

“No,” he says, teeth gritted.

“And wasn’t the deal,” she says, “that you would do one thing— _anything—_ I asked, because you don’t have the money to buy me something for the holidays?”

Levi grunts again.

“Something like that.”

“And what I want,” Hange goes on, smiling, “is for you to dance to Santa Baby in a pretty Christmas dress, and then, I want you to have sex with me.”

Levi places his phone back on the counter, and turns up the volume.

“I’m not a math genius like you, four-eyes, but I think that is at _least_ two things.”

“You’d have sex with me either way, so that doesn’t count.”

And Levi knows this is true, he must do, because he taps at his phone screen without another word, and the music starts to play.

Levi stands in the middle of the room, with his arms slack at his sides, toes pressed one over the other and a neat red line spread right over the middle of his face from ear to ear.

“Come on,” Hange says, “dance!”

Levi gives a weird, jerky wiggle of his hips, that isn’t so much his _hips_ as his whole torso, rocking from one side to another, and Hange cackles out into the room as Santa Baby croons out from Levi’s phone.

He’s not a dancer, not at _all_ , but there’s…there’s something about it that Hange likes. Maybe it’s his legs—they look long, in such a short skirt, longer than normal—or maybe it’s his arms, bare and tensed, wrapped in muscles that twist under his skin as he tries to work out what it is his meant to be doing with his hands.

Or maybe it’s his chest, bare about his collar—Hange can see the lightest mist of sweat glowing over pink, shame-flushed skin, and it’s…it’s _good_. It’s a good look.

Whatever it might be—because it could be any number of things—it’s nice, and even through her laughter, because for the most part he does look ridiculous, she’s sort of desperate to get him off his feet and into the bed.

“Enough,” she says, as the song draws to a close, and Levi straightens himself up from the weird troll crouch he’d been in and reaches back for the zipper of the dress. Hange shakes her head, beckons him forward.

“Nope,” she says, and Levi crosses the space between them slowly, warily, like Hange is a dog that just might bite him. She reaches out a hand when he’s close enough and pulls at his skirt, tugs him right up between her legs and slides her hands up the backs of his thighs.

He jumps at the touch and he chokes, but there is no protest left as Hange cups him over his _—_ very, obscenely tiny _—_ underwear.

“Keep the dress on.”

There’s an awful lot of half-hearted protesting from Levi even as he strips her down, works her up—”If you wanna fuck the dress so bad, I can leave the two of you alone,”—but, before she knows it, Levi is looming over her and inside of her, moaning the smallest, sweetest sounds against her ear as she curls her thighs up against his hips.

His lips smooth over her cheek, clumsy and wet and Hange turns to meet him, digging her fingers into the bright red velvet and sucking his bottom lip between her teeth.

She was right; the synthetic fur is _horrible_. It scratches at her thighs, at her breasts where the two of them are pressed chest to chest, and Levi keeps wriggling against her in between thrusts, trying to rid himself of the itch.

“This is—the worst,” he pants, and Hange nods, moans when Levi grinds deep into her. He lifts himself up, just a little, and one hand slides between them to rub at Hange’s clit, to stroke her through as his thrusts grow uneven, a little frantic.

Hange doesn’t know how long they’ve been at it _—_ after the dancing, the laughing, the _extensive_ foreplay, because it’s Levi’s favourite part, a little more laughing and now the sex–but she sort of wishes she’d been keeping track.

Because Levi is coming in her, digging his forehead against hers, with his eyes squeezed tight and the skirt of his dress rucked up over his hips, when her bedroom door swings open, and Hange’s mother strolls in with her arms full of gifts.

“I picked up our presents from—Oh!”

Levi gives the weirdest, most strangled sound Hange has ever heard, and yanks his hand out from between them to fumble at his skirt. Hange’s mother, for her part, doesn’t move. Not at first.

At first she just stares, wide-eyed and _horrified_ , and the presents in her arms tumble with the softest _flump_ against the carpet.

“Oh my god,” she says, at the exact same time Levi does. “I am—I am so sorry, I’ll just—I’ll be downstairs.”

She scoops up the presents, drops one again, gathers them all in her arms and hurries for the door, and only when she is almost, _almost_ out of the room, does she turn back, forcing a strange, strained smile on her face.

“I hope you’re being safe!” She says, and then she disappears, and the bedroom door swings closed behind her.

For a moment, neither of them say anything. Levi is still _in_ her, still panting post-orgasm, still clad in his stupid dress, and Hange is still…weirdly on the brink. She wiggles her hips, and Levi shakes his head.

Levi ducks his face and _groans_ , nothing sexy, nothing dirty, just pure, dismal despair. Hange strokes the hair down at the back of his head and calms the breath in her lungs.

“I can’t believe your mom just caught us having sex.”

It’s all muffled in the skin of her shoulder, but Hange hears him well enough. And she laughs, loud and lilting, and skims her hand up beneath the fabric of Levi’s skirt.

“I can’t believe my mom just walked in on us having sex while you’re wearing a _Christmas_ _dress_.”

**Author's Note:**

> heyooooo I hope someone took some pleasure in this mess! Drop me a comment to let me know, or you can find me on my new tumblr (2020 really did terrible things to me) @ someonestolemyshoes :) I welcome more people to chat with so I can stop talking the ear off my two (2) friends


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